Sad eyes on the threshold. Counting the freckles on her arm. We wrote on the same page for a while. Different inks. Different handwritings. Trying to find complete sentences in the pieces we had left to spare.
It's not as if we had plans. Or anyone we knew how to love more than ourselves.
Just tigers waiting for our claws to grow back. Semicolons drowning between oceans of thought.
The beauty of it was that we never had to be lost or found. We just laid down for a while. Letting the grass grow around us.
The best part was we didn't do anything. Just let it all happen. Little grains of sand waiting on the lightning strike to change us into glass.
The journey for me wasn't about going somewhere. It was about discovering where I'd always been.
Threading the needle is easy compared to making those stitches.
I've only lived occasionally. By choice as much as by circumstance.
There's no regret in what's happened. Only it what could have.
And then he tells me he sees neon where I stare. And the storm gets close enough so that we have to ask.
Was it only words.
Friday
7/07/2006 12:30:00 AM
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